


Crack

by Tater_Tati



Series: #Kinktober2020 [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: A... dash of bloodbending, Boss/Subordinate Relationship, Desk Sex, F/M, Flings, Under The Table Blowjobs, masked sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tater_Tati/pseuds/Tater_Tati
Summary: Kinktober Day 2: Masked SexAmon is an enigmatic leader, but someone you would follow till the end of time. It doesn’t bother you that you’ll never see the man behind the mask. Really.
Relationships: Amon | Noatak/Reader
Series: #Kinktober2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975348
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	Crack

Amon never takes his mask off.

You’ve grown intimately aware of Amon in one kind of way, in the manners of flesh, in the way bodies can move and fit against each other in different configurations under the moonlight, but he remains as closed off as ever in every other aspect of his life. He remains a man of mystery.

Even now, as you work your hands over his throbbing length, he betrays little beneath the mask. If you weren’t attuned to the unique signs of his arousal—the way his breath catches ever so slightly when you curve your wrist, the narrowing of his dark gaze, the tendency for his fingers to twitch and grasp at something, as if he’s not used to being at someone’s mercy—you wouldn’t be able to tell he was enjoying this. But because you’ve grown used to staring up at those dark eyes and what little of himself he offers during these intimate moments, these are things you can count on. Things that make Amon somewhat less of a figure, and more of a human.

In contrast, you’re bare. He doesn’t ask you to bare yourself to him, but he does ask that you take _your_ mask off. He says it’s so he doesn’t forget your face, but you know Amon. You know his keen eye to detail, his attention to body language. You’re sure that he could recognize you in a crowd.

You wonder if he just wants it to feel less impersonal to him. And maybe part of you hopes that, by letting him see you like this, bared open, he’ll also decide to bare some of himself to you.

Regardless of masks, there is another clear indicator of his arousal—the hard column of flesh in your grasp that throbs at your every expert movement.

He sighs raggedly, and you take it as a sign to lean down and pucker your lips around the head of his cock. There’s not much of a scent to Amon. He smells clean, like soap, with a hint of ruggedness, like pine. When you take him deeper into your mouth, his breath hitches ever so slightly, and he starts making short, quick thrusts into your mouth.

“ _Now,”_ he says, and you pull off, substituting your hand for your mouth. Amon is a kind man; when he finishes, he never makes you swallow his release. It dribbles into your fist, and you’re reaching for a tissue.

Then he’s getting up, buckling his pants. All business, no time for loitering. “…Good work,” he says, with the air of a man who is used to giving commands, but there’s a tinge of hesitance, a keen attention to his phrasing, as if he himself is not sure of where the boundaries he’s drawing are. 

Nonetheless, as you nod, murmur a thank you to him as he slips out and stands guard so you can get dressed in peace, his hooded eyes imprinted into your thoughts. The image stays with you throughout the day.

—

Amon, you learn, is a man of restraint. Even when he’s hard underneath you, above you, inside of you, he rarely cracks his calm, measured demeanor. And even the cracks you do see are hairline tears in his persona. 

The night you started this affair of yours, though, is an entirely different beast. It was a victory for the Equalists, after one of the rallies amassed over a thousand spectators. The movement was growing, your voices gaining more and more traction. Back at the base, there was fanfare, celebrations. You had one too many drinks of Narook’s special mix, and even Amon, amidst the celebrations, decided to indulge in one or two. He caught you in a corridor, and amidst his commendation of the way you’d taken down benders in your last raid, something shifted in the air. At some point, the two of you grinding against each other like teenagers, your mouth nipping at every bit of exposed flesh on his neck… Amon lifted his mask just enough to sloppily press his lips against your neck. You remember the warmth of his lips, like the rice wine warming both your bodies.

While Amon’s goal as leader of the Equalists is to give everyone a fair chance, to level the playing field, in the bedroom, he rarely extends that to you. Amon in the bedroom is a force to be reckoned with, all commands and heated looks, and rough caresses. He has you wrapped around his finger, and all he has to do is glance at you. 

He took you on the simple couch in his office, the legs creaking menacingly with every one of his sharp, efficient thrusts. Efficient. That was how he liked to fuck, much like how he led. But throughout the night, it was a mesh of both efficiency and fervor. Fire and ice. Almost as if Amon himself was struggling with these own urges.

And in the end, when he was grunting out your name, his release drying cool on your thigh, he handed you his shirt to clean the mess. It was a small act, and he said nothing to accompany it, but the way he reclined next to you and your breaths moved in tandem said everything you needed to know.

—

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, just a glimpse, his hand hovering over your head. You always feel small under Amon’s grip, under the hands that could take away people’s bending, that are capable of taking on the Avatar herself, but this time even more so. The Lieutenant drones on and on about the next phase of the Equalists’ plan in this impromptu meeting: the takeover of City Hall. Your own hand is wrapped around Amon’s throbbing, stiff flesh under the table as he takes charge and lays out their line of attack. 

While the two of you are usually not this _risky,_ you had little time to prepare, since the Lieutenant and his men had burst into the room just as you lowered to the ground. Amon quickly scooted you deeper under the table, and to all extents and purposes, looked nearly unaffected, if it weren’t for the exaggerated stillness to his form. 

A lick to the head of his cock has his fingers tangling in your hair, tightening in warning, his gaze discretely roving over to you. And then, when you slip the head between your lips, he leans forward slightly. The meeting drags on, Amon tightening his grip every so often when your sucking gets too exuberant. Papers are shuffled around, voices rise in argument, and then, as the door to his office open and the members of his task force slip out, he slips _you_ onto his desk, his mouth hard and unyielding on yours. You feel the barest hint of stubble against your cheek, and you press harder against him, but then’s parted from you, his mask slipping back over his chin. 

The way his hands maneuver your body to a position he likes is as fluid as water. Almost smoother than the way he slips off both your pants, his girth parting you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. 

Something about trying to fuck in Amon’s office while the Lieutenant and his Equalists hover just outside has you feeling more on edge. Each of his thrusts feel like they split you to your very core, and you eventually have to bite down on his shoulder. He groans at the pain, his hips slapping rougher against yours.

“Hold on, I need to tell Amon something,” you hear, just outside his door. As the sound of footsteps draw closer, the both of you still. The air between you stills as well. Oddly enough, you can feel Amon’s muscles flexing, almost imperceptibly, balls deep as he is inside of you. The doorknob rattles, then there’s a pause. There’s the sound of choking, then a howl of pain from outside. Eventually their voice grows quieter, whether with distance or pain, you can’t tell. But it almost sounds as if they’re being dragged away against their will…

“What was—”

Amon silences you by hilting himself in you once more. Your breath catches, and he starts rolling his hips into you with a frenzy. He fucks you hard and fast, almost invigorated by the thrill of nearly getting caught. When he grasps your thighs, dragging you closer to him as he buries his length into you, you cry out. His next thrusts misses its mark, his dick sliding against your mound before his release splatters in ropes onto your stomach. You’re trembling, adrenaline rushing through your veins as his gloved fingers brush against your clit, rubbing furiously to stimulate your hypersensitive nerves until you also reach your end, your entrance clenching around nothing.

Amon pants into your shoulder, his breaths echoing against the hollow wood of his mask, and for one, measly moment, your fingers twitch with the yearning to take it off. You’ve often fantasized about what he looks like. To your knowledge, he’s never showed anyone outside of the Lieutenant. You could picture him—a strong jawline, piercing, intense eyes… but that urge dissipates as your fingers trail across his mask, towards the top of his mussed hair before smoothing it back.

He stiffens against your touch. There’s a pause as if he’s attempting to comprehend the domestic action. When he addresses you, the ice glazing his usual commands is gone, replaced by the lull of waves right before a typhoon approaches.

“We have a rally in ten.”

“…Of course.”

“I trust you’ll make it there alright?” He pulls away from you, his eyes searching you, looking for something Loyalty, perhaps? Your feelings? 

You bare them all to him, as you have nothing left to lose. 

“Yes, sir.”

As you’re putting your pants back on, feeling oddly dejected, for whatever reason, he stops you with a clearing of his throat.

“After… After the Equalists manage to bring down Republic City, perhaps we can… celebrate.” He hesitates. “In… other ways as well.”

You smile softly. “Yes, sir, I would like that.”

Amon may not be the most transparent leader, but you would follow him through the shipwreckage of the modern bending world. Perhaps he sees you as little more than an outlet, and you;re fine with that, really. You would take what little he offered you and make the most of it, as you had done with most or your circumstances.

And when it came down to it, maybe the man who was inside you was a man who didn’t even know himself, much less was someone for you to attempt to piece together. Still, in those moments where your bodies stayed connected past the cool of his ardor, and he seemed reluctant to leave… He never seemed more human than then.


End file.
